


Exit 75 (One for Lollipop Gestapo)

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: The Choirgirl Set [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Bars and Pubs, Dark, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, Handcuffs, Hotels, M/M, Male Slash, Series, Slash, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder meets up with Krycek in the basement of a hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit 75 (One for Lollipop Gestapo)

She hands me a key on the way out of the office.

“Seven sharp, Mulder. Don’t be late.”

Something I’ve done has pleased her of late. It’s a rare thing when I earn my way into Scully’s bed, anyway. It doesn’t really matter, that part of our relationship, that’s what I tell myself. That we’re intelligent consenting adults who sleep with each other because we need the release, nothing more, I repeat that to myself as I head for my car, clutching the key.

Our trysts are never held in our apartments. Too risky. No, we choose cheap motels, ones we can use for an hour or two, then ignore ever after. She’s always waiting on the bed, always undressed already. I undress like the Flash, and then we fuck. I feel vaguely guilty, using the most intelligent and lovely person in my life like a whore, but I get over it. After all, she’s the one who chooses everything in that part of our life. If I’m a john, so is she.

I look at the key, know the drill. It’s an offramp inn, a resting place for the weary, a love nest for the guilty, and a crib for two people who play both prostitute and john. I’ve never been, I’ll never go again. I sigh, and hit the bathroom, take a piss. Washing my hands, I look into the mirror.

“You’re a handsome devil,” I tell myself, scrubbing my hands vigorously. “What’s your name?”

“Talking to yourself, Spooky?” someone calls from a stall.

I don’t reply, finish washing my hands, and exit the men’s room. So I wish I looked like John Cusack. Women fret when they get a new freckle and force themselves to try to look like waifs like Kate Moss. Why can’t I vaguely wish to look like Cusack?

I whistle to myself as I get in my car and drive. Exit 75. Baby, she’s starting to choose out-of-the-way places. I’m gonna have to push it to be on time, and she gets extremely pissy when I’m not there at seven on the motherfucking dot. I punch a few radio buttons and stop with a new one–

“And sooner or later it’s over...I just don’t want to miss you tonight,” the singer cries.

I need this. I’ve needed her bad for a while. Porn videos just don’t do it when you know what you’ve got sitting across from you in the office in prim DKNY and flamboyant Frederick’s of Hollywood underneath.

“And I don’t want the world to see me, cause I don’t think that they’d understand…”

God, God, GOD, I hope the traffic on the Beltway isn’t too bad. The thought of her in that hotel room, waiting (even if she’s arrived a mere two or three minutes before me), it drives me nuts.

“When everything’s made to be broken– I just want you to know who I am.”

Scully, I don’t know why we do this to each other. It’s not release, it’s war. I can see our little encounter already– you attacking me with that potent little body of yours– your valkyrie cries, your sharp fingernails, driving into my back– I can see me, trying to hurt you. Driving deeper into you, hoping maybe I’ll make you scream, but not with pleasure. That I can take some back of what you take from me, I want that.

“And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming, or the moment of truth in your lies, when everything feels like the movies–”

It’s a fucking joke, what we do to each other. I think she truly hates me, she’s just afraid to realize that she’s chained herself, body, heart, and soul, to a prick like me, to a world like this. Scully’s mind is obscure and dark and dangerous. What manner of woman was she before we all got to her? My bruised demon lover, in that angel’s form, what has life taken from her? Or am I just kidding myself, and is it Scully who’s the dark one?

“Yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive…”

I was a good kid. A kid with issues, but I tried so hard. I try so hard. I want only the good, but sometimes, there is no good in this joke of a world. Look at me. I’m supposed to be Truthseeking Fox Mulder, driven to pursue the truth, avenge the innocent, do my best. Instead, I sulk, control the damage of the monsters and evil around me without getting rid of one iota of it, and oh, yeah, I screw my partner on occasion. My prize for selling my soul to no one.

Shit, I don’t want this. Scully can go pick up some slob in a bar and screw him silly for all I care. I can’t do this. Not tonight. Not anymore. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do, but I am not going to go to Scully, as much as I want to. As much as I need to.

I violently pull my car off the highway at the next exit, pulling into the Marriott I see there. I feel like getting drunk. Maybe I’ll be brave enough drunk to tell Scully our arrangement is o-v-e-r.

* * *

“You think you’re so brave?” I slur to the bartender. “Well, I’m over an hour late to go fuck my partner. She’s going to kick my ass just to remind me she’s got bigger balls than I do. You hear me?”

“I’m calling Security if you don’t get out of here immediately, sir,” the bartender tells me firmly. “I’m calling you a cab, sir, but you leave the bar immediately.”

This bit of information weaves its way to my brain back and forth entrancingly, like Scully walking into a room, like Alex “One-Armed” Krycek skittering under cover like a roach– I grin goofily at the bar guy, and stand, trying to make it out of here without falling on my ass. I manage that. I manage to get to the elevator (bar was on the top floor, ritzy!), but I can’t get off at the right floor. I end up in the basement. I lurch out, dizzy and slowly getting nauseated, then I finally hit the floor. I don’t pass out, but I just stare up at the ceiling and laugh.

“She’s going to fucking kill me,” I repeat to myself. “What the hell was I thinking? I’ll never touch her again–”

“Why the hell would you wanna, Fox?” someone asks me. Oh, I must have passed out, because the voice sounds sexy. The voice sounds like Krycek.

Yeah, I’m out cold.

“Because she’s good,” I say. “It’s like– amazing. Never woulda guessed it. She’s all woman, even if she’s got titanium balls.”

“You like ’em with balls, Fox?” the same Krycek voice asks. “I can give it to you without all the fun of waking up next to her. You’d like it, I’m telling you.”

“I’m not into that shit,” I say indistinctly, feeling the touch of a male hand against my face. It’s different, but it’s still almost arousing. Scully won’t touch my face, won’t let me kiss her. I wish I could, just once, kiss and kiss until I finally silenced her sharp voice.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you’re into. I made myself a promise about you, Mulder,” that voice tells me, slapping me with the same hand that had run down my cheek so gently. “You wanna hear what?”

I try to move, try to get away from this person. But he’s fast, he’s sitting atop me before I can do anything, and after slapping me again, rolling me over.

“Let go of me, asshole,” I growl. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Who the hell do you think it is, Mulder? I promised myself recently I’d do this the next time we crossed paths. You can tell me how straight you are, I don’t care how many times I’ve seen you screw her, how many times she’s screamed for you. You’re afraid.”

“Krycek,” I growl. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Something completely unrelated to you. We just happened across each other...serendipity, Fox. It’s all about serendipity.”

Yeah, sure. I’m about to get raped by this one-armed bastard, then I get to go face Scully and explain it. Krycek has a weird fucking definition of serendipity.

“Do it, then,” I growl.

“You’re such an asshole, Mulder. I swear to God, you’ve had this coming, you really have.”

I can’t see anything, but I can hear. I hear the swish of a belt, feel as his belt become some form of handcuffs– after all, the one armed man needs a little help in that department– I squirm and struggle, but I’m trapped. Fate.

“Yeah, just one more thing to add to the list,” I reply.

“What list?”

“I got a list of reasons why I’m gonna kill you, Krycek.”

“You got a list? Do you have one for Scully?”

I squirm, arch, and realize Krycek is unmistakably aroused, and that I’m going to get it. His hand is on my ass, and this is not good, it’s really not good, and it’s even worse that I feel a little– just a little– turned on, too.

“I don’t want to kill her.”

“Liar. Liar. We all want to kill her. You just want to kill her by degrees. You like watching her shatter. I’m an honest liar, Mulder. I want to do the same to you. I want to take everything from you, and give you only what I choose. I want to watch you come undone. I want to take even what you call yourself from you. Can any average human stand the presence of a saint? Of course not, so we destroy them.”

“Having a hard time getting it up, Alex?” I jeer. “God, you’ve spent a lot of time musing and not enough raping.”

“Where are you now, Mulder? You used to be wild about the edges,” he says, grabbing my pants. “You’re nothing but a shadow.”

“I’m tired, Krycek. I got my own responsibilities.”

He’s somehow managed the belt. Krycek is extremely talented for a one-armed man. My pants are being snaked down, and damned if I don’t have my own hard-on going. I wait, silent, ashamed, and wishing my conscience concerning Scully hadn’t decided to act up tonight. I could have been halfway back to Alexandria after a very satisfying session with Dr. Dana Scully. Instead I’m hard and drunk against the concrete, facing my own rape.

“What are you waiting for?” I growl finally.

“I’m waiting for you to say yes,” he replies.

“Yes? To what?”

His hand traces a path down my back. Even through the shirt, I shiver. The sensation is undeniably arousing.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Mulder,” he says, slapping my ass hard. “You know you want this.”

He’s out of his mind. My body still continues to respond, and I hear him laugh, feel suddenly his tongue tease my earlobe. Oh, God. God. My back arches and I don’t know up from down.

“No,” I whisper.

“No?” he asks, his mouth tracing a path down the back of my neck. “That doesn’t look like no to me.”

Gently, ever so gently, he cups me. My hips jerk, an involuntary reaction, but he laughs nonetheless.

“No,” I whisper again.

“Why not? I bet Scully would. I bet she’s already gotten tired of waiting for you, that she’s found some one-night stand. She’s a practical woman, Fox. You’re her vibrator on legs, not her lover. Or don’t you get that?”

I hate him. I want to hate him, even as his mouth and his hand continue to drive me crazy, and my body shakes and trembles with rage.

“Do it, then,” I growl suddenly. “I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no. I haven’t got a choice, do I?”

“You’ve never had a choice,” he replies, and suddenly, I feel him, this is actually happening, oh my God, oh my GOD, and it hurts and it’s driving me crazy and I can’t get enough and I want him to stop, I’m spinning and spinning–

“Come on, Mulder, relax, man, relax–” he growls to me, nibbling on my other earlobe. I’m trying to relax, and suddenly I do, and it feels so good, and I realize he’s actually singing or something, or saying something.

“What are you saying?”

“I have to learn to let you crash,” he tells me. It doesn’t make any sense, but whatever he needs, and I am so close to coming it’s not funny. I don’t understand how it’s possible, he hasn’t laid one red finger on my front, and suddenly he makes a sound, and he comes, and then and only then does he start paying attention to my problem.

“Poor Mulder,” he jeers, his hand finally finding my sex, and starting to move up and down. I am so sensitive right now, I’m going to explode, I have needed it bad, I’m coming down from the madness of before, as though it were all a dream.

But it’s no dream. The hand on my hard-on is Krycek’s, not Scully’s. The name I call when I finally let go is not hers. The kiss that follows– on my cheek, as before– isn’t soft and delicate. Stubble scrapes stubble. I try to reach him with my own mouth, but he doesn’t allow that. All my lovers dominate me.

“Sorry we didn’t have time for more,” he says coolly. “But I don’t think we had time for more than a fuck. You come see me again, okay?”

The best response to that would be ‘Fuck you, man,’ but that’s sort of redundant. I’m still bound and exposed on the floor, he might just leave me.

“Sure. My people’ll call your people, we’ll do dinner and a movie first,” I reply.

“God damn,” I hear him reply. “Well, aren’t you gonna thank me, Fox?”

“For what?”

“Loosening the cuffs so that they don’t find you bound and naked on the floor, asswipe,” he replies. “And for getting some life fucked back into you.”

“I didn’t know that you were a necrophiliac.”

He almost laughs, but he does finally loosen the belt, and then I hear his footsteps pound off. I pull my hands free, and immediately try to pull my pants on, tidy up a bit. I hear my cell phone ring, and after failing twice miserably to zip up, I finally manage and grab the phone.

“Mulder,” I say.

“Wednesday at the Alexandria Holiday Inn?” he asks. “You good for that?”

“Fuck you, man,” I finally get to say.

“That would be the point. I’ll see you there– and Fox. Does Deep Impact sound like fun to you?”

Before I can respond, he hangs up and I stare at the phone.

So help me God, Wednesday at the Holiday Inn sounds good. I’m losing what little is left of my mind. I need to go to Scully, I need to talk to her, to explain. I can speak with her now without pulling off all her clothes.

My earlobe tingles still, and my mind is full of images. Alex and Scully, do I have taste or what? Beautiful demon lovers who want to use me and whom I want to use.

I need to go to Scully now. I need to explain. I fumble in my pocket and find the key to the motel.

Tonight things have changed.

Tonight things will continue to change.

Exit 75. I’m still alive. Maybe a little more alive than I was before I met him in the hotel. This fact continues to surprise me as I make my way back to my car and to my Scully.

I hope she’s waited for me.


End file.
